


Spooky Season (Bendy Edition)

by darkling59



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Gen, Halloween Challenge, Horror, more tags incoming, stay tuned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:27:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27088606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkling59/pseuds/darkling59
Summary: A series of Halloween-themed ficlets counting down to the day itself. I'll update the tags as new chapters are posted.Chapter 8: Office parties can be hell at Joey Drew Studios. Poor Buddy finds this out the hard way.Chapter 9: Trapped in an old mansion, Henry has an unpleasant run-in with a vampiric Alice Angel.Chapter 10: Allison and Tom have an unnerving encounter right before they return to the studio. It’s a warning they should have paid attention to.Chapter 11: Boris’ journey, from exiting the Ink Machine to meeting Henry.Chapter 12: Henry, Boris, Alice, and Tom are flung into the world of Dead by Daylight to survive...or not. And they're not alone.Chapter 13: The vampire Alice Angel lures a stray composer back to her place for a quick bite, only to find out he’s more than he seemed.Chapter 14: (Familiar!Bendy verse) Bendy loves pranks and he manages to sneak one past Henry on Halloween night when he offers tricks instead of treats to innocent candy-seekers.
Comments: 23
Kudos: 16





	1. Oozing Ink

**Prompt: ritualistic, goblin, unnerved**

_The increasingly demonic rituals going on in Joey’s studio slowly turn his workers into monsters and the changes quickly advance from confusing to irritating and unnerving, all the way down to terrifying._

* * *

It starts with the stains.

A blot here, a spot there, a drip slowly making its way down the elevator wall…

Or, perhaps not.

Perhaps it starts much sooner, with eerie clanging in the walls and pipes that sound suspiciously like something howling. Or with rumors of a mysterious Machine, the name enough to send shivers down the spine even though its purpose is unknown.

Or earlier still, with the frenetic, bright eyes of Joey Drew and the fixed stare of Tom Conner. With men and women averting their eyes to keep their jobs. With an old friend drawing a line in the sand and his delusional counterpart refusing to accept the boundaries of reality.

…But the stains are when people, people other than Joey Drew and Tom Conner, begin to notice something is wrong in Joey Drew Studios.

Why would there be ink in the elevator? In Sammy’s Office? In the Entrance? In the Administration Offices?

At first, Joey tries to explain it away by telling his employees that the pipes installed in the walls are leaking ink. No one asks why; they’re worked to the bone as it is and money is in such short supply that they accept whatever scraps of information Joey is willing to dole out at face value.

But the ink _spreads._

It doesn’t just _drip._ It _oozes._ Lines of ink are found trailing through the hallways, hair-thin at first but gradually widening until it looks like someone dragged a body through the studio’s rooms. Then the markings make their way up the walls. Across desks. Onto the _ceiling._

Still, no one dares to question Joey’s insistent refusal to admit that anything is wrong; they just call Wally to clean up the mess.

It’s just ink, after all, right?

... Wally is the first one to get the ink on his bare skin. As the only janitor in the massive studio, he spends most of his time on his own and no one notices when he starts wearing gloves. Long Sleeves. High Collars. Sunglasses. They don’t see him staying after hours in his office, scrubbing frantically at inky stains oozing up his arms like goblin fingers, or the clawed black mess his hands become, or the dull golden coins that take the place of his normally bright blue eyes. He shrinks in his clothes, muscle falling in streams of ink that stain his shirt black and feet sliding around in his formerly-tight shoes. No matter what he does, he can’t stop the transformation.

It’s Tom who finds Wally the day he doesn’t show up when he’s called to work. The engineer stomps down to the janitor’s office with immense irritation, ready to yell at the younger man for slacking off…only to stop dead in the doorway.

It looks like a goddamned _crime scene_. Ink is everywhere, splashed like blood on the walls and floor and there are drag marks all over the place; _five fingered_ drag marks that are painted black and, in some cases, _red._ And there’s something moving in the corner, small and heaving like it’s curled up and breathing is painful.

Something hard coils in Tom’s gut. He _knows_ what the Machine can do. He _built_ it. But it was never meant to be used on people. _Never._ Joey couldn’t possibly be so insane, could he…?

“Hey.” He growls as he takes a cautious step towards the creature. “Where’s Wally? Who are-?”

It uncurls just enough to reveal a dripping mess of black ink topped by golden eyes that pin him with desperation. The ink hiding its mouth bubbles and distorts as it replies, voice a hissing gurgle that sounds like it’s choking every time it forces out a word.

“To-om? To-om Con-nor?” It drags itself a foot closer but doesn’t uncurl. “Wh-at? Wh-at’s _happening?_ I ne-ed to get _outta_ here!”

The last three words are the only ones that come out clearly. It stretches a trembling four-fingered hand out towards Tom in a clear plea.

The engineer stumbles backwards with a horrified curse. Instead of taking the hand, he turns tail and lunges out of the room, throwing a heavy chest in front of the door behind him and dashing away, taking the stairs two at a time. He knows what that was but his mind shies away from acknowledging it. All he can focus on is his destination.

Joey. Joey must have done this; he must know how to _undo_ this. This _can’t_ be what he meant to happen.

…Right?


	2. The Vampire's Lair

**Prompt: decapitated, tomb, vampire**

_Henry is an unlikely vampire hunter braving Joey’s subterranean lair in an attempt to save an old friend._

* * *

“Joey? Please don’t make this difficult…” Henry’s quiet voice drifts off into the inky darkness, fading away before it can echo in the cavernous space. He waits for a good five minutes but there is no answer, just the same suffocating silence he’d found in the rest of the vampire’s lair.

With a faint sigh, he leans out over the edge of the chasm, straying dangerously far from the narrow stone path that is the only way down and looks down.

Down, down, down…

His flashlight is the only source of light and it’s not very strong; it fades out within a few yards, revealing nothing in its narrow beam. There should be _something_ in the darkness. If it’s natural, he should hear the dripping of distant water, the chittering of bats, and the faint rustling of small cave-dwelling animals. If it’s unnatural, he should hear the clinking of dangling chains, the whispering of unnatural shadows sliding through the darkness, and the panting breaths of beasts confined in the pit.

But…there’s still nothing.

“How did you even find this place, Joey?” Henry mumbles, more to himself than because there’s any possibility of an answer. He draws back from the edge and starts down the steep path, keeping his light on the stone right in front of his feet to watch for any sudden drop offs. A trip here could easily prove fatal.

It’s a long, slow journey downwards and there’s nothing to distract himself from his memories.

He remembers when he met Joey; the older man became a fast friend when Henry was floundering about trying to find his path in life during college. Joey’s smile had always been big and his charisma charmed even the toughest professor to his side, a skill he’d used to help Henry more than once. But the brighter the light, the deeper the shadows, and Joey was hiding some _major_ shadows in his soul.

Henry didn’t find out until Joey cornered him late one October night right after he’d graduated with a grin and a suggestion that wasn’t all that out of the ordinary so close to Halloween: they should head out to the old ‘haunted’ mansion on the edge of town with a few friends and see if they could find any ghosts. Something about Joey’s smile made Henry uneasy, but it was _Joey_. Of course he trusted him.

…He doesn’t remember much about that night, but there’s one image that stands out in his memory, vivid as a photograph. A transmutation circle on the floor, written in blood-red ink, candles at each corner throwing up columns of fire and light too high for their size, casting the rest of the room in darkness, and Joey standing in the center of the circle, looking at Henry with glowing red eyes and a smile that revealed teeth that were far too sharp. In the memory, Henry is sprawled on his back on the floor, staring up with horror while Joey reaches for him, ready to pull him into the pentagram and sink his teeth into his neck.

…In his nightmares, Joey catches him before he can run away.

In reality, he’d kicked the nearest candle over and it caught Joey on fire, giving Henry time to escape. In his flailing, Henry’s former friend lit the decrepit old building on fire and Henry found out the next morning that it had burned down. Joey never contacted him again and he went out of his way to avoid the…creature. He even moved across the country to get away from him.

But twenty years later he heard the name of his hometown on the news and learned that it had a record number of missing people. Some of his childhood friends were on the list of the missing and he wasn’t able to reach any of his old college buddies when he tried. Even Norman had vanished without a trace.

Now…now, he _knows_ what Joey is. What he’s become. What he’s _done._ And he’s going to stop him.

Henry frowns deeply as he maneuvers around a particularly large outcropping of rock. He can feel the axe fastened to his back digging into his shoulder blades and wishes he could carry it in his hand, but he needs his free hand for balance.

Finally, he reaches the bottom of the stone stairs and pans his light up to take in the space. He freezes in surprise when the beam lands on a long wooden box the size of a man. There’s black lettering on the top, shining like it’s still wet, and small metal studs every few inches around the edge like it’s been nailed shut. To keep someone out? Or to keep something in?

The ink on top is clearly legible once Henry warily edges close enough: _Tom_.

It’s a coffin.

Henry swallows down his horror and maneuvers his light upwards to reveal row upon row of identical coffins, each one marked simply with one name: Allison, Susie, Lacie, Bertrum, Grant, Shawn, Jack, Dot, Buddy…

Henry’s knees wobble when he reads the last name in the closest row of wooden boxes.

… _Norman._

His old friend, the big man who was quiet rather than charismatic and went out of his way to fade into the background rather than attracting the spotlight like Joey. But he was a dependable friend who always cared in his own way and he’d stuck by Henry even after Joey’s betrayal.

It isn’t surprising given when Henry knows about Joey, but having evidence of Norman’s death right in front of him hurts deep in his heart.

But there is no time to mourn, not now.

With steady hands and a soul-deep determination, Henry takes his axe in hand and peers into the darkness, trying to find the familiar figure that has to be there somewhere.

“One way or another, this ends today, _Old Friend._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Please read and review!**
> 
> **Happy Halloween!**


	3. Beyond the Grave

**Prompt: magic, cadaver, panicky**

_After accidentally killing his best friend while attempting to ‘gift him with immortality’, Joey brings Henry back and is forced to handle a panicking revenant trying his best to escape._

* * *

“Joey, are you sure this is safe?”

“Of course!”

“No, I mean, why are we in the baseme- Is that _blood?”_

“Pig’s blood from the butcher! Don’t worry, it’s all part of the ritual!”

“Ritual?! Joey, you said we were building a model of Bendy!”

“Of course we are!”

“With blood!?”

“Of course! Don’t worry, I’ve already drawn the transmutation and summoning circles so we only need this bucket for the last step.”

“Why are you pulling back the rug and…”

“…”

“…”

“…Joey, _what is all of this?_ Are those _demonic symbols?_ ”

“The symbols are for _transmutation_ , Henry. Do keep up. It’s not that complicated.”

“...I’m not comfortable with this Joey. I don’t know what you have planned, but I will not be a part of it.”

“Oh, come now, Henry. It’s not dangerous.”

“Then _you_ can do it. Alone. I’m sorry Joey, but this isn’t-.”

“Henry…”

“Stay _away_ from me, Joey. I don’t want to know what you’re-.”

“Look out for the bucket!”

“Wha-Ugh!”

“Look at what you’ve done! All of that blood gone to waste. I hope you’re willing to pay for the next bucket. Henry, you’re panicking over nothing.

“Joey.”

“It’s perfectly safe! I drew all of these symbols without a problem!”

“Joey.”

“And the procedure in the book is very clear that we only need the raw material for the spell.”

“ _Joey.”_

“ _What,_ Henry? Can’t you see you’ve ruined it?!”

“ _Why is the circle glowing, Joey?”_

“Wha-oh.”

“Joey, you’re never quiet. _What have you done?_ ”

“…You’re covered in blood.”

“I’m aware of that, _Joey._ What is going on?”

“Henry, you need to get out of the circle.”

“I’m not _in_ the circle. I’m _leaving._ ”

“The _whole room_ is encircled, Henry. You need to get out of it! _Now!_ ”

“Wha-ugh!”

“…Henry?”

“Wha-what’s happening. My hand is…my hand just… _what have you done, Joey Drew?!”_

“Nothing! _You_ stepped in the bucket and fell in the circle! This is _your_ fault, not mine. What have _you_ done, Henry Stein?!”

“Don’t pull that nonsense with me, Joey D…ugh. Uhhh-uuAAAAAGH!”

“Henry!”

“No, d-don’t-!”

“The blood. The blood is the key! That’s why it never worked before. It’s the blood!”

“The-i---ieuuuughhh-aaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH….URrrrrrgggn…*

“No, not the pig’s blood. Your blood! Human blood! That was the missing piece all along!”

-

“Henry?”

-

“Henry!”

* * *

Joey’s voice is the last thing Henry hears before everything goes black and the pain fades away into blissful unconsciousness.

It’s also the first thing he hears when the blackness fades away to reveal a sepia-toned nightmare.

“There we go!” The voice is familiar but it takes a long moment for Henry to place it as his old friend Joey Drew. His mind is moving slowly and his body barely twitches; it feels like he’s trying to move through molasses.

“…Uh?” His voice is a strange gurgle that vibrates in his throat. It sounds…odd. Inhuman. When he tries to clear his throat, it refuses to cooperate and just makes an odd growling sound.

“Henry! You’re awake!” A bright light shines straight in his eyes and Henry twitches away from it, grimacing. He can’t get far; not only is his body refusing to respond but the small movement reveals there is metal digging into his wrists and neck. No wonder he can’t move.

“Henry, it worked! Thanks to you, the ritual worked!”

“Uh. Wha-?”

“I’m sure some memory loss is perfectly normal.” There’s the sound of heavy boots clomping over wood flooring, moving away from Henry, and the light mercifully leaves his face. This time, when he orders his eyes to open, they actually do what they’re told and he blinks blearily at a world painted brown and black, uncomprehending.

“Wha di’ do?” The words are slurred and garbled, but they’re just about recognizable.

“There, you see! You’re already improving!”

This time, when Joey emerges from the shadows, Henry recognizes him immediately. But his ‘old friend’ inspires an instinctive sense of uneasiness followed by a surge of fear instead of friendship. And his eyes are bright and darting, refusing to look Henry in the eye despite his obvious excitement.

“Wha-t. Hap-pen-ed.” Henry forces the sounds to cooperate to form the right words, pushing all of the emotion that he can into them, but Joey doesn’t acknowledge him, let alone the words.

“I got you back in the circle before rigor mortis set in too badly, so I don’t think it’ll be a problem. What am I saying? Of course it won’t! You’re tougher than that, Henry! And I know exactly what I’m doing!”

Rigor mortis…?

“And in your current state, you’ll be even more useful to the rituals! Revenants are rare, you know. I looked it up! This is an opportunity we would be crazy to pass up!”

Revenant…?

For the first time, Henry looks down. He can’t see much given the odd filter coloring his vision and the metal bands holding him in place, but he can see his hands. His corpse-grey hands stained by webs of glistening black ink that move like veins beneath his skin. They only twitch when he mentally commands them to make fists…but they _do_ twitch. Those are _his_ hands. His _dead_ hands.

Staring at them, he finds his breath coming short and his eyes widening and shortly his hands start shaking. The blood – is it blood? – pounds in his head and his chest hurts from the force of his gasping.

Distantly, he can hear Joey shouting his name but he doesn’t acknowledge it.

Dear God, what did Joey _do?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!


	4. Fledgling Flight

**Prompt: bloodsucker, scared, bat**

_Bendy, Boris, and Alice are fledgling vampires terrified of their sire and fleeing from his territory in bat form…only to run straight into another Master Vampire’s territory._

* * *

“Hurry, Boris!”

“I’m tryin’!”

The voices are barely whispers on the breeze and it takes a sharp eye to pick out two small black creatures flying erratically in the sky. From the right angle, they look like black rags fluttering across the full moon…from every other angle they blend into the darkness of the sky. The smaller one is zig-zagging around its companion, which is moving more slowly and laboriously. If a winged creature could limp while flying, that’s what it would be doing.

“You guys comin’?” The third voice is female but the speaker is invisible, easily avoiding the light cast by the moon.”

“Keep goin’, Alice! We’ll catch up!”

“Guys…we need to _hurry._ Joey’s gonna be on us as soon as he realizes we’re gone.”

The tiny, furry creatures all shudder in tandem and the biggest one droops, losing altitude.

“You need to leave me behind.” It whispers.

“No!”

“Never!”

“I’ll just slow you down. I don’t know if I’ll even be able to make it to the next tree, let alone out of Joey’s territory.”

“Lucky for you, you crossed the border five minutes ago.”

All three squeak shrilly in shock when a new voice speaks right next to them and then try to scatter, even the injured one, but a pale hand darts out of the gloom, snatching two of them in one movement. The third wobbles away, off balance from the rush of movement, only to be caught by a second strike and clutched in a firm grip.

“H-hey! Let us go!”

“I don’t think so.” The newest voice makes no attempt to stay quiet. It’s stern and disapproving and the three little creatures all shrink in an instinctual desire to protect themselves. The voice’s owner catches their reaction and releases as a hissing sigh. When it continues, it’s slightly gentler. “Why are you three trespassing in my territory?”

“ _Your_ territory?” One of the little creatures squeaks.

“Yes. Oh, apologies.” There’s a flare of fire, a bright light, and the pitch-black area is suddenly bathed in a flickering orange glow. For the first time, the speakers are visible.

A man is standing in the center of a small wooded clearing, clad in black pants and a comfortable-looking crimson sweater. He’s not very tall; perhaps a few inches shy of six feet; and he’s rather thin. His hair is salt and pepper, leaning more towards brown than grey, and his face is kind, though weathered from a hard life. If you passed him on the street, you wouldn’t look twice. He’s holding three small black bats in his weathered hands, only their tiny heads peeking out of his clenched fists. It’s an odd sight, but his eyes turn it from merely interesting to frightening: they are glowing bright, blood red.

After a moment of silence, the man smiles, revealing two long, sharp fangs and continues. “My name is Henry. This is my territory.”

The smallest bat squirms and squeaks out. “I’m Bendy. An’ this is Boris an’ Alice. Now let us go!”

“I don’t think so.” Henry frowns and turns to leave, carrying the bats with him. “You three are trespassing. And you came from _Joey’s_ territory.” The name comes out as a rasping growl, accompanied by a flare of gold from his eyes. “It seems I need to have another _talk_ with my old friend.”

“W-wait!” This time, it’s Alice who pipes up. Bendy has recoiled so far that only the tips of his large ears are visible over Henry’s fingers. “P-Please don’t! We don’t want to go back to Joey!”

“…I’m sorry?” Henry pauses, looking at them in surprise and then furrowing his brow. He doesn’t open his hands but he’s clearly listening.

“We don’t wanna work for Joey anymore.” Bendy’s tiny squeak is hard to hear. “It _hurts._ ”

“It…?” Henry’s expression darkens. “Oh, really?”

“Please don’t send us back.” Boris speaks up for the first time, sounding tired. He’s not even struggling, unlike his friends. “He’ll probably go after my other wing if you do.”

That, finally, is enough for Henry to open his hand to get a good look at his captives and he takes in the sight of Boris’ left wing, punctured in two places and bleeding sluggishly, and his eyes widen.

“You’re injured!”

The three bats exchange quick looks of surprise at the sudden concern in his tone and Alice pipes up again, hope and fear tangling together in her voice and her heart.

“Yes, Joey did it. He wanted to keep Boris from flying. Can-can you help us?”

“…Yes, yes I can.” The older vampire’s eyes harden with determination. “Don’t worry, I know how to deal with Joey Drew.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read, left kudos, and commented!


	5. Into the Abyss

**Prompt: spell, gory, skeleton**

_Early on, with ink-madness only recently settled in, Sammy decides to make his first sacrifice to his Savior. It goes wrong. It goes very wrong._

* * *

**(HORROR & DEATH WARNING)**

**(Not Sammy’s death, though.)**

**(Seriously, this one’s rough. Someone turns into ink and it's awful. BEWARE!)**

* * *

The basement of Joey Drew Studios is dark and foreboding. Once, it was simply a large empty space made of bare boards and containing hundreds of boxes of supplies. As money dwindled, the supplies were used up and not replaced, leaving a cavernous space that went unused until the creation of The Ink Machine. It’s the perfect place to put together a secret project and, though the Machine has been moved upstairs, there are discarded and broken parts and tools still scattered all over the place. Its final legacy is the ink it left behind; the walls are stained liberally and there’s a good six inches blanketing the floor, rotting and compacting the wood below. The only part of the room that still looks like it used to is the ceiling...the ink hasn’t risen or splashed that far. Yet.

In the farthest corner of the dark room, candles provide a flickering, wavering light that barely touches a slumped, shaking figure stained by the ink. It’s sitting on the floor with its back to a pillar and only the forced, unnatural position suggests that there are ropes keeping it in place; they are stained the same slippery, wet black as the rest of the figure. A sheet of dripping ink parts to expose a pale, slender face and wide brown eyes, revealing that it’s not ink at all – it’s long hair, stained from being doused in the cursed liquid. The captive is a young woman, though little else can be made out of her features.

Her eyes are fixed on the second figure in the room, outside of the candlelight but audible from the energetic sloshing of ink as it moves around the room.

“S-Sammy, p-please don’t do this…” The whimper is faint and exhausted, like the captive has been struggling for a long time and has nothing left to give.

The second figure pauses and then prances into sight, nearly knocking over a candle in its exuberance. It looks like a man made of ink, literally; a smooth, inky surface has erased all human features from his face, arms, and chest (where it can be seen through a tattered once-white shirt, just barely hanging together). His overalls are sturdy and intact but don’t look… _right._ The seams look like pen-strokes and there are hashmarks in place of shadows on the hems and waist.

The ink-man is waving his hands in clear excitement, but he takes great care to replace the candle he nearly knocks over and dexterously weaves among the others while he shouts to the rafters.

“Ah, but the Savior is coming! His followers must take care to provide for His needs, so He can set us free!”

“W-what are you talking about? S-Sammy, please. We know each other. W-we were friends-!” The captive tries to push herself up but slips on ink and her shoulders thump back into place

“Ah, yes! Once, when I was human, my former self called some of you friends. But _I_ am the Prophet. _His_ Prophet!” Sammy stops standing over her and leans down, taking her chin in one hand and tilting her face up. She doesn’t try to pull away, just pleads as best as she can with her eyes. When the ink man continues, his voice is quieter, almost regretful. “But sacrifices must be made.

“S-Sammy, _p-please._ ”

“Do not despair, Sinner! For He will grant you an Eternal Form, something better than your fleshy prison. Something even better than my current Inky…Inky…Form…”

For the first time, something uncertain enters his tone as he looks down at inhumanly smooth, five-fingered hands and clenches them tightly. But whatever he’s thinking doesn’t make him pause, it just makes him more determined.

“Now, the time of sacrifice is at hand!” He spins away and the young woman drops her head in despair. She can’t struggle anymore; she’s been struggling for hours and she’s too exhausted to do anything more than twitch. “This, _This,_ is the symbol of my Lord! Surely, _This_ will get his attention!”

Sammy grabs a candle and lifts it up to reveal what he was doing in the darkness: a giant pentagram is drawn on the wall beside his captive, sluggishly dripping ink. Too much ink to be natural. Too much ink to have been used in its creation. In fact, it appears to be _producing_ ink. The young woman cringes away from it in fear.

“Now, my Lord, _listen to me._ ” Sammy whispers with reverence as he leans up to light candles that are melted to the wood at the five points of the pentagram. “ _Please_ , listen to your faithful Prophet.”

When the last candle is lit, all of the tiny bright white flickers turn deep blood red and the lines of the pentagram twist like writhing snakes, dragging away bits of the wall with a loud groan of tortured wood. Ink explodes out of the gaps, hitting Sammy square in the face, dousing his hands where they are still held up in supplication, and showering his helpless captive from head to foot.

Sammy’s howl of surprise is drowned out by the young woman’s scream of shock…and then terror. His hands whip up to cover his face on instinct, but the tortured shriek makes him whip his head around to stare instead.

She’s… _melting._

“P-please, _please, please…!_ ” Her screaming is frantic, completely senseless with terror as the ink sinks down onto her skin and _into_ it. Blood oozes from the inky spots at first, but it quickly disappears as black liquid forces its way under her skin, painting her pale face with dark veins. Her screams of fear quickly turn to agony and lose all words as her arms and legs start to thin, ink sloughing off of them along with anything that was once flesh and blood. Quickly, the ropes fall away from wrists no longer thick enough to keep them in place, but she’s in no place to take advantage of her freedom.

Her skin sags and becomes soft and malleable before dripping away as another surge of ink. Her hair turns to same color as the ink staining it, then trickles away as liquid into the mess on the floor. Her teeth are shockingly bright for a moment before a surge of ink forces its way out of her throat, making her choke, and then all facial definition is lost. Her features collapse into a single black mass and then simply slide away, into the ink.

She screams until her throat collapses and her internal organs liquefy. Her eyes are the last thing that remains, turning unnaturally gold as they stare up at Sammy in terror, and then fading to black along with the rest of her.

Finally, all that's left is a shockingly white skeleton floating in the ink. Then, that too slowly turns black and collapses into lumps of slick, viscous liquid.

Sammy gags as the staring skull slowly fades out of existence and brings both hands up to cover his non-existent mouth, staggering away from the puddle that was once his sacrifice, that was once his friend. But he freezes with them inches from his ‘eyes’ as he notices that something is different.

Instead of five fingers, now he has four. And they’re not the right size or shape, either; they’re too short, too wide, and they deform slightly when he presses against them. They _squish_. Where he got hit by the pentagram’s ink, he’s _changed._

Shaking like a leaf, the ink man bows his head and staggers out of the room, mumbling frantically. He doesn’t look back.

He never looks back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know why BatIM gets all of my most horrifying prompts. Maybe because it's a horror game, but it's pretty kid-friendly, for the most part. If you don't read too far into it.
> 
> ...This, on the other hand, seemed rough when I wrote it and was even more horrifying when I edited it. I know it was because of the 'gore' prompt but still...sometimes, I surprise myself. Does anyone think I should up the rating on this fic? Or add a specific warning to the tag list?
> 
> Halloween...? Yay...?


	6. Finding Heart

**Prompt: broomstick, coffin, bloodsucker**

_In a slightly more supernatural re-imagining of the studio, Tom goes missing and Allison is forced to hunt for the vampire that used to play the role of Alice Angel to get him back._

* * *

Allison has never considered herself an especially brave person. She’s a voice actress with aspirations to become a stage actress and she’s made her way through life with an iron-hard will and undying ambition. It’s enough to set her on a path to her dreams and keep her from suffering the hardships that so many poor men and women are going through (though the fact that her family is wealthy certainly doesn’t hurt matters).

Falling in love doesn’t change any of that. Tom might seem gruff, but underneath it all he’s the sweetest man she could ever hope to meet and the two of them _click_ in a way she never expected. She can spend hours just sitting next to him, watching him work or reading through her latest lines, and never have to say a word to express how content she is. When both of them are hired on at Joey Drew Studios, it seems like another step towards a life she’s going to love.

Unfortunately, the studio is not what it seems.

Tom is the first hired and he’s uneasy about her coming on, though he won’t say why. Apparently, his work with Joey Drew is classified; per his contract, he can’t even tell her the broad strokes of what he’s doing. Her contract isn’t quite as stifling but she reads through every piece of it before signing and some of the smaller print clauses ring alarm bells in her head. So does the hiring manager’s irritation that she wants to read it at all, let alone the whole thing. He pushes her to sign, and then hovers over her as she reads on her first day.

Still, the pay and the opportunity are too good. She signs anyway.

The supernatural is evident in the studio; Joey himself claims to be a warlock, though he never works magic where anyone can see. The big projectionist is some sort of cryptid and plenty of the gofers are goblins and brownies. There are a few werewolves around and the music director is a particularly frenetic vampire. Rumor has it that the previous voice actress for Alice Angel was a vampire too.

At first, Allison is impressed that Joey has such a workforce. It’s difficult for any supernatural folks to get work, even harder after the war, and it seems like such a remarkable gesture of goodwill that she’s charmed. At first.

Then Tom disappears.

Allison notices immediately. Normally, they leave the studio together at the end of a work day and when he’s not there to meet her, she knows something is wrong. And when she goes to Joey’s office to ask where Tom is, her boss brushes her off. He doesn’t even meet her eyes and his normally jovial attitude is brusque and dismissive.

Norman finds her standing outside of Joey’s office, trying desperately to think of a way to force him to tell her what he knows.

“Hey there.” He greets, deep voice suspicious. “What are you up to, Miss?”

“Hello Norman.” She tries to smile, but knows it doesn’t take. “I can’t find Tom. Normally…” She falters. Their relationship isn’t known to everyone yet. It’s not considered proper to be so close before getting married.

The projectionist grunts and waves a hand. “I know about your little meetings, Missy. I’m not one to judge.”

“….Oh.”

“I see everything around here, you know.”

She cocks an eyebrow. “Did you happen to see Tom?”

“Naw, not…Well, actually…” He frowns. “I didn’t see your man, but I did see Susie. And she looked mighty unhappy. Could’ve been headed in his direction.”

“Who’s Susie?”

“Used to be Alice Angel. Joey done her wrong; she used to be a sweet gal, even with those fangs. Now, though…she’s got a chip on her shoulder that she’s likely to lay at your feet.”

“Me? Why would she be upset with me?” Allison has heard of Susie in passing but never met the previous actress. The other employees seem to avoid talking about her, especially when Allison is nearby.

Norman offers a look that clearly questions her intelligence. “Because you’re Alice Angel now. And that’s _Susie’s_ role.”

“I…don’t follow.” Allison is a voice actress. She’s played hundreds of characters, background and foreground, and while Alice Angel is a sweet character, she’s still just a character. She can understand being upset with losing her job, but Susie’s obsessive connection to the cartoon character is much more difficult to swallow. “Shouldn’t she be mad at Joey?”

“Oh, don’t worry, she is. Joey’s lucky he’s got some magic on him, even if he stole it from Henry. That little vampire can’t go after him directly. _You_ , though…”

Allison swallows. Susie might not be one of the vampires of old, holed up in some cave or dilapidated mansion, kidnapping men and women from nearby settlements for food…but she’s still a _vampire._ And Tom is only human. Would she really attack him to get at Allison as revenge for something outside of her control?

“What can I do?” She finds herself demanding of Norman, grabbing his arm in a harsh, desperate grip. “Will she listen to reason? Where would she take Tom?!”

Norman sighs and scratches the back of his head, then jerks his chin towards the stairwell. Allison follows him when he walks in that direction, waiting for him to reply. He waits until they’re two floors away from Joey’s office and even then, he speaks low and fast.

“I saw her heading for the lower levels – Nine, probably. That’s where she used to take her lunches when she wanted to be alone. I’d say don’t go alone, but no one else will want to confront her – no, not me either, don’t give me that look – and take some sort of weapon with you. You got silver? Wood?”

“I can find something.” If nothing else, she can break a broom handle and use it as a stake. She doesn’t want to, _God_ does she not want to, but she will to save Tom.

“Good. I don’t know what you can say to change her mind, but she’s obviously got some sort of plan. Maybe try to figure out what it is. At least try to find out where she’s stashed him.”

They come to a halt much further down in the studio than Allison has ever ventured, next to a well-used cot oddly stationed in the shadows of the stairwell.

“Here’s where we part ways, Miss.” Norman tips his hat and Allison bites her lip, wanting to ask him to help, but knowing he’ll refuse. “Good luck. Tom might not be the nicest guy out there, but he’s genuine. I’d rather work with him than Mr. Drew any day.”

High praise.

Allison watches him go and then clenches her hands into fists. She needs to find a weapon, then she needs to rescue her beloved.

It’s time for her to be brave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's read, commented, or left kudos!


	7. Suspicious Treats

**Prompt: candy, magic potion, cursed**

_Cursed candy is an occupational hazard in Henry’s supernatural-fusion neighborhood and the day after Halloween always finds him untangling the various curses attached to unwary children and greedy adults – some more malicious than others._

* * *

“Bendy…”

“It’s not my fault, Henry! Promise!”

The grey-haired wizard raised an unimpressed eyebrow at his diminutive familiar.

“Honest, I swear!” The little demon didn’t even have the grace to look ashamed, just raised his hand like he was taking an oath.

“Aw, it’s okay, Mr. Stein.” The young man seated at Henry’s table smiled nervously, drumming too-large hands on the hard surface. When sharp claws clicked instead, he winced and dropped them back to his lap, then averted his eyes. “I know he didn’t mean to.”

“It’s still not okay, Buddy.” But Henry affectionately tapped Bendy’s small horns before sitting down next to his guest. His expression melted into concern as he gently took the clawed hands, golden magic sparkling through his fingers. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine!” The sixteen-year-old yipped, then winced again, cleared his throat and lowered his voice. It was comically, purposely deep and Henry had to make a conscious effort to swallow his chuckle. “I guess I shoulda thought more about wearin’ a werewolf costume ‘round here, huh?”

“That shouldn’t have been necessary, but thank you for understanding.” Henry sighed. He finished with Buddy’s hands, leaving them human again, and moved on to the sharply pointed black ears twitching on top of his head. “I don’t know what’s gotten into Bendy today. Normally he loves Halloween, but this could have serious consequences.”

“It _wasn’t me!_ ” Bendy scowled, jumping up on the chair next to Henry and planted his hands on the table. “I’m tellin’ ya! I mean, I know I mighta’ lied about the candy, an’ I tried to get out of cleaning the yard after the party cuz I wanted to mess around with Boris, but _this time_ I’m telling the truth!”

Henry eyed him. He was used to his familiar’s antics but he rarely objected so much if he was actually at fault. Normally, he’d put up a token protest, then give in with a chuckle and revel in the results of his mischief. By now, he should be tugging at Buddy’s ears and tail and exclaiming over how perfect his prank had gone. That he wasn’t, made Henry doubt his original assumption.

“But if it wasn’t you, then who?” His serious question caught both teenager and demon by surprise and they glanced at each other.

“Um. Well…” Bendy scuffed a shoe. “I…dunno. This…does look like my sort of thing. But it _wasn’t_ me!”

“Buddy, did you come into contact with any other magic users this week?” The issue was becoming increasingly serious. It was one thing for Henry’s mischievous partner to set up a candy-based prank, it was something else for an unknown magic-user’s spells to curse the people in his town.

“Not…that I know of?” Buddy scuffed his foot against the floor in an inadvertent mimicry of Bendy’s actions. “I had some candy at the office this morning and I went to the old café across the street for lunch but I ate at home the rest of the time.”

Henry didn’t push. He knew Buddy didn’t have the money to eat out much. He was more likely to skip lunch than buy it except on special occasions. But that left…

“Who did you get the candy from in your office?”

“Oh, it’s not _my_ office.” The teenager chuckled self-consciously and tugged at his hair as his upright ears shrunk back down to size and vanished. “My boss called me in to talk about…stuff.” He shot a semi-panicked sideways look at Henry. “I’m not really supposed to talk about it.”

Normally, Henry would brush that off with a chuckle and leave Buddy to have his secrets, but that sounded suspicious. Dangerously so. “You’re not supposed to talk about the candy?”

“I…didn’t think about it like that. I wasn’t supposed to talk about our meeting. But he did offer me the candy. He wouldn’t do this to me, though. He doesn’t even know magic!”

“Hmmm…” Henry finished reducing the last of Buddy’s alterations and patted him on the shoulder. “There, all done!”

“Thanks, Mr. Stein!” Buddy was up like a shot and nearly out the door before Henry’s final words caught him.

“It’s no problem, Buddy. By the way, who is your boss?”

“Oh, his name’s Mr. Drew. He owns that old studio in town.”

Henry froze. Beside him, Bendy sank down into a crouch on his chair, a low, cat-like hiss rising in his throat.

“See you later, Mr. Stein!”

“Bye, Buddy.” Henry managed to force the words out as the young man darted away, relieved to be himself again.

“Joey did this? And blamed it on _me_?” Bendy snarled, a surprisingly menacing sound for such a small creature.

“So it seems.” Henry’s voice wasn’t much friendlier. “I had no idea my _old friend_ was back in town.”

And distributing cursed candy to underage workers at confidential meetings. That didn’t raise any red flags at _all._ Who _else_ had eaten the candy, without a convenient wizard friend to set them back to rights afterwards?

“Perhaps we should pay him a visit.”

“Yeah.” Bendy Jumped from the chair to Henry’s back, clambering up until he was sitting on his wizard’s shoulders with his arms crossed on his head. When he bared his teeth in a smile, they had transformed from blunt squares into needle-sharp points. “I got _lots_ to say to that guy.”


	8. It's My Party

**Prompt: trembling, shaking, costume party**

_Office parties can be hell at Joey Drew Studios. Poor Buddy finds this out the hard way._

* * *

_This can’t be happening. This **can’t** be happening…_

Buddy’s internal gibbering made no difference to his situation, but he couldn’t seem to stop. As soon as the screaming started, he’d squashed himself under the refreshment table, folding his long legs and tall frame as small as possible in the corner. He’d like to think that if someone asked him to help, he would, but no one had even noticed his absence. Not even Dot.

…Come to think of it, he hasn’t seen Dot for a while. Not since Mr. Drew started telling ghost stories.

It started as such a good evening, too. It was supposed to be fun; an office party thrown by Mr. Drew where everyone was encouraged to dress up as their favorite Bendy character. Even if you didn’t have the clothes for it, Mr. Drew made sure there were enough Alice Angel halos and Boris ears/tails available at the door for anyone who didn’t come in costume. He was the only one who got Bendy horns, of course, but Buddy thought that was as it should be. He’d been happy to put on the Boris tail and ears, and Dot had put on her halo without protesting too much.

Now, the ears are twitching on Buddy’s head and he can feel his trembling tail tucked between his legs. There’s a huge muzzle in the middle of his face but he’s got his hands covering his eyes so he can’t see it.

“Why are you all so upset?!” Mr. Drew’s voice rings through the room, disappointed and disapproving. “Can’t you see this is the perfect next step? We’re bringing Bendy and his friends to life! You work here; it is your duty to see this through!”

Buddy just whines deep in his throat and presses harder with too-big gloved hands so he can’t even see light around their edges.

There’s a furious gurgling howl from someone, a man. A Boris, now. “We never signed up for this, Drew! What have you done to us?!”

“Oh, Tom. Tom, Tom, Tom.” Mr. Drew sounds _so_ disappointed. Buddy had always wanted to make him proud, to see that bright smile and larger than life personality aimed solely at him…but now the sound of his voice makes the hair (fur?) raise on the back of his neck. “Why are you always so stubborn? I gave you the opportunity to work here. I took you in when no one else would appreciate your talents. You’ve helped me bring my creations to life! And yet, you refuse to embrace the gifts I give you?”

“Screw you, Drew!” ‘Tom’ snarls. “It’s _my_ machine. I didn’t help _you_ with anything! And just because you hired me, doesn’t mean you own me!”

There’s the slow, steady clomp of footsteps and Buddy knows Mr. Drew just stepped off the stage and is pacing around the room. He cringes further back in the darkness, praying the tablecloth is keeping him concealed and his trembling won’t shake the table to give away his location.

“I beg to differ. You did read your contract, didn’t you? You agreed to this.” His next words boom through the room, too loud to be human. “You all agreed to this when you signed on!”

Had they? Buddy never bothered to read his entire contract. It was so long and dense and he had work to do…he’d just trusted Mr. Drew when he said it was necessary.

…He should have read it. Even if it lost him the job, _he should have read it._

“And all of you were happy enough to come to this party!” Joey’s voice remains inhumanely loud and slowly morphs, becoming angrier and more accusing with every word. “You all put on the costumes, partied at _my_ expense, drank on _my_ dollar, and then listened to _my_ stories. You even laughed at my spells.” He repeats the last words in a snarl. “You _laughed_ at my spells.”

Buddy doesn’t remember any spells. He remembers the stories about witches and monsters and evil magic, but no spells. People were laughing, sure, but wasn’t that the point?

Apparently not.

He cowers further back as Mr. Drew’s footsteps pass his table. Tom is silent now and Buddy’s scared to know what that means; he didn’t hear anything happen, but no one had at first. Not until someone’s halo started to glow and someone else’s hand started to _melt._

In his cowering, Buddy knocks against the back leg of the table and the piece of furniture scoots across the floor with a loud _screeee-eeech!_

The footsteps stop.

Buddy stops breathing.

Then the tablecloth is whisked away and a low voice, friendly and all the more terrifying for it, calls to him.

“Well, hi there, Buddy.”


	9. Is it Ever Really Abandoned?

**Prompt: vampire, levitation, black dress**

Trapped in an old mansion, Henry has an unpleasant run-in with a vampiric Alice Angel.

* * *

The old mansion is dark and choked with cobwebs, there are boards over the windows that only allow slivers of silver light to shine through the cracks from the full moon outside, and underfoot the thick, musty carpets throw up choking clouds of dust with every heavy step. Rain pitter-patters against the roof and wind whistles through the long hallways, making empty, broken frames and defaced portraits alike bang against the rattling walls.

Henry barely notices any of it.

He’s dragging himself along, panting harshly, with one hand clutched over a sluggishly bleeding wound on his shoulder. It hurt a lot when he got it, to the point where he literally thought he was going to die even if the one who attacked him didn’t finish the job, but now it’s faded to a dull throb. Or maybe it’s only his perception that’s changed; he’s so tired that it’s possible only a little bit of the horrible pain is registering.

For all that the deserted mansion seems to be…well, _deserted_ , it’s noisy from the sounds of the storm outside so Henry does not realize another sound has joined the cacophony at first. By then, he’s been shambling aimlessly through the place for a good twenty minutes, less because he’s expecting anything to happen then because he’s worried that if he sits down, he won’t be able to get back up.

But when he registers the change, he pauses halfway up a wide staircase. Once, it was probably grand, but now half of it is rotted away and the ornate railing is laying in pieces on the floor below. A few jagged splinters rattle free when Henry stumbles to a halt and he notes them as he raises his head and cocks it, trying to pinpoint the new sound.

A particularly loud ‘ _bang!’_ from a nearby board breaking free from its place over a window and slamming into the outer wall makes him jump and flinch but it’s not enough to completely distract him from his goal. Slowly, the faint sound grows in volume and becomes recognizable.

It’s… _humming._

“…What’s going on?” Henry murmurs to himself, the first words he’s spoken since entering the mansion.

Immediately, the volume of the humming increases and Henry is just considering retreating when a figure materializes on the landing above him, where the staircase ends in a wide, elaborate platform full of moth-eaten furniture and rotting woodwork. It’s a young woman dressed in a form-fitting ankle-length black dress and black skin-tight gloves that reach all the way to her upper arms. Her face is lost in shadow but Henry gets a clear look at the rest of her when a lightning flash momentarily brightens the room beyond the wan glow of the moon.

He also gets a good look at the shadow thrown into stark profile behind her, which bears two long, pointed devil horns on top of her head.

Henry swallows and makes an effort to stand up straight, even though he’s swaying from exhaustion and his arm is _still_ bleeding.

A slow smile spreads over the woman’s face.

“Well, hi there.” She purrs and seems to glide closer. “Who might you be?”

“…My name is Henry.” He’s willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but not much of it, given the day he’s been having. After all, it’s _possible_ she’ll be willing to help him. Unlikely, but possible.

The woman glides closer, humming again, and seems to be looking him up and down, though she’s still half a staircase away.

“I see you’ve had a run in with my pets.” She’s laughing as she says it and it takes Henry a moment to realize that she’s looking at his arm and the patch of bloody sweater acting as a bandage.

Surprisingly, it’s not fear but anger that rises at her words.

“Those poor wolves, that was your doing?” His voice is stronger than he feels when he speaks and her head tilts, clearly surprised.

“Ah, yes, those… _poor_ …creatures.” She chuckles again, but this time there’s something dark and ugly beneath it. “Those… _wolves._ ”

“I know what a werewolf is, Miss.” Henry frowns.

“…You’re different than my usual visitors.” She replies after a moment, voice settled to simple curiosity. It only takes a moment for Henry to realize that this might be just as dangerous.

“Yes, well, I’m simply trying to get home.” He tries to temporize. “If you direct me to the nearest phone or exit, I’ll get out of your hair.”

Her laugh makes the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up and he finds himself backing down the staircase before she even begins advancing. When she does, she’s far too fast to evade.

“Oh, _Henry._ ” She purrs. “Who said I want you to _leave?_ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of the comments and kudos! 
> 
> I haven't had a chance to answer everyone, but I'm working on it. I'll probably finish my responses later today.
> 
> See you tomorrow!


	10. Bad Omens

**Prompt: wraith, bloodcurdling, black cat**

Allison and Tom have an unnerving encounter right before they return to the studio. It’s a warning they should have paid attention to.

* * *

“I don’t like this, Alli.” Tom’s gruff mutter draws a long-suffering sigh from his wife.

“Tom, we’ve been over this. Joey might have been… _difficult_ in the past, but that was a long time ago. If that letter isn’t a sign of good will, I don’t know what is.”

Tom grunts and looks down at the yellowed paper with clear suspicion, though the message it contains is simple and friendly:

> _Hey Tom,_
> 
> _I heard about your marriage to Allison. Or should I say Mrs. Connor? Congratulations to both of you! Why don’t you stop by the old studio, so I can congratulate you in person?_
> 
> _-Joey._

The couple debated long and hard about their answer; Allison wanted to give Joey the benefit of the doubt and let bygones be bygones, if only so her husband could find some closure on his past as an employee at the studio. Tom, on the other hand, would never trust Joey after he stole the Ink Machine patent and warped it to suit his own needs rather than to perform the function Tom _actually_ made it for. He was fully intending to go to his grave cursing the businessman and telling everyone who would listen what sort of back-stabbing scum Joey Drew actually was.

But he couldn’t say no to Allison. She’d looked up at him with her big blue eyes and that determined set to her mouth, and he knew he was a goner. With no return address on Joey’s postcard, the only way they had to reply was to actually show up at the studio.

“Why ask us to meet him _here?_ ” Tom grumbles, more of a protest for the sake of protesting at this point. Allison’s return smile is indulgent and a touch amused.

“Perhaps to make amends?”

“Yeah, right. This place has been shut down for over a year. I’m surprised it hasn’t been torn- what the hell is _that?”_

Allison whirls when his voice suddenly changes to find what he’s seen, and is surprised to see a tiny, four-legged black figure at the top of the stairs. It’s sitting on its haunches and licking one forepaw. She almost laughs.

“It’s just a cat, Tom…”

Then it opens its eyes to look at her and her smile freezes. The eyes…are glowing gold. Uniformly, with no pupil. And when the cat stands up, its coat shifts and… _oozes_ …in a way that is nothing like fur. It looks like… _ink._

“The hell…?” Tom puts an arm in front of her and curls his other hand into a fist, ready to defend her, and Allison puts a calming hand on his shoulder and leans forward to look into his eyes.

“It might look strange, but it’s still just a cat.” There’s a note of uncertainty in her voice but there’s really no other possibility for what it might be. Perhaps it’s sick or covered in paint?

“That’s not a -” Her husband scoffs and turns back, only to instantly go rigid. “Where did it go?!”

Somehow, in the few seconds that they were focused on each other, the little animal had vanished. It is an enclosed one-way flight of stairs with the two of them at the bottom and the closed studio door at the top and the cat hadn’t passed them but it is undeniably gone. The only thing different about the stairwell is a big smear of black ink or paint next to the door.

Tom and Allison both lapse into uneasy silence as they eye the door and the stain.

“…Are you _sure_ about this, Alli?” More than ever, Tom wants to turn around and go home. He wants nothing to do with Joey Drew, and that aversion is growing by the second.

Allison firms her jaw and squares her shoulders. She doesn’t particularly want to meet with Joey, but she feels it’s necessary for Tom to move on. Both of them know what the studio owner is capable of and she’s sure they won’t be suckered into his plans again. The cat was eerie, but only a cat. What else could it be?

“I’m sure.” She offers him a comforting smile, takes his arm, and leads the way up the stairs. “Don’t worry; all we have to do is express our appreciation to Joey and then we can leave. Hopefully, it won’t take more than fifteen minutes.”

“Hmph. He’d better not try anything.” Tom opens the door for her and the two of them enter the studio together, ready for a final encounter with Joey Drew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not so fond of this one, to be honest. I'm having some trouble finding the inspiration to complete this challenge.
> 
> Only four days left!


	11. Emerging from the Ink

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Spoilers for the novel.

**Prompt: lurking, screaming, trembling**

Boris’ journey, from exiting the Ink Machine to meeting Henry.

* * *

Boris comes into being slowly. Later, he’ll wonder if it should have been instantaneous. If he should have been completely awake and aware as soon as the Ink Machine wound down from his creation. But at the time, he remembers a fuzzy image of the Creator standing in front of him with a friendly smile and an outstretched hand, promising…something.

Something that appeals to him, but something else, something inside, as much a part of him as his ink, protests.

It protests so hard that Boris’ fuzzy consciousness slowly fades and he lapses into sleep. The last thing he hears – the only thing he hears? – is a faint voice begging with someone named ‘Buddy’.

* * *

He’s hungry. He’s always hungry. At first, this isn’t a problem. The Thing that Protests pushes him to sleep more often than not and it eats enough that Boris doesn’t worry about his hunger. The growling of his belly is an irritant but not too bad – after all, most of the time, it’s not _his_ belly. But the Thing that Protests worries a _lot_ , and Boris doesn’t know what to do about that. It worries about food, about paper, about ink, about the Creator, about the Demon…

(Something about the Demon hurts, makes Boris sad, but he doesn’t know why. There’s supposed to be a demon, but not _that_ demon. An image of pie-cut eyes, short horns, and a smile of pure mischief flashes through his mind so fast that he can’t register it.)

On the rare occasion that the Thing that Protests isn’t worried, it’s using paper and ink. Boris knows what writing is but can’t understand it. He can’t read or hold a pen and when he tries too hard, the Thing that Protests pushes back and forces Boris back to sleep.

That’s okay. He doesn’t like paper and ink, or even the thought of writing. He’d rather be finding bacon soup.

* * *

As time passes, Boris is awake more often. The Thing that Protests stops protesting so hard and becomes more tired and frightened. Instead of forcing Boris to sleep, it starts sleeping itself when the world is too scary. At first, Boris is happy to be in control and able to do whatever he wants, to find out who _Bendy_ is, and _Alice Angel_ , and _Joey Drew._ To eat as much bacon soup as he can get his paws on and play his banjo to his heart’s content.

Then he finds out why the Thing that Protests is so scared.

The Ink Demon is _terrifying._

Boris finds it on accident, stumbling into the pulsing shadows that haunt the basement, and nearly loses his head to the creature before he can reach a Miracle Station.

(That’s not Bendy. _That’s not Bendy._ )

He cowers in the Miracle Station for hours after that and, for the first time, pushes for the Thing that Protests to come back.

It does, but it’s sluggish and confused. For a while, the two of them coexist without pushing for control or going to sleep. They don’t communicate exactly, but they mingle.

Boris discovers that ‘The Thing that Protests’ is called ‘Buddy’.

* * *

Buddy goes back to his paper and ink after that but Boris doesn’t go back to sleep. Instead, he watches and learns. He and Buddy are surprisingly similar, though Boris worries more about food and Buddy worries more about ink.

Buddy also knows The Creator, and warns Boris away from Joey Drew with as much fervor as he can. Boris doesn’t take him seriously at first…then he sees Joey use the Ink Machine to create Alice Angel.

The human woman screams until she doesn’t have a throat left to scream _with_ , and then Alice Angel…isn’t. The Ink Demon intervenes, and then she _really_ isn’t.

By now, Boris knows he isn’t actually the cartoon Boris but somehow he still has the shadowy memories of Bendy and Alice Angel as they’re supposed to be, and seeing the twisted monsters created by Joey Drew makes something sad curl deep inside his ink.

So does Buddy, by then.

Because Buddy stops taking over. He doesn’t push for control anymore and he’s not interested in the paper and ink. Boris looks at them sometimes, but he doesn’t understand the fascination. It’s just paper, to him.

* * *

Boris doesn’t forget Buddy, but the young human…fades. It doesn’t even feel like he’s sleeping anymore; he’s just a figment in the back of Boris’ mind that flares faintly every now and then when something familiar catches his eye. It’s not enough to hold Boris’ attention; surviving the studio is his one and only goal and it gets harder and harder over the years. The Ink Demon’s influence grows, the humans vanish, and the ink spreads. Every trip out of his safehouse becomes a fight for survival; nine times out of ten, he finds himself cowering in a Miracle Station with his hands over his eyes to avoid one of the many enemies the Studio has to throw at him.

Then, one day, the Ink Machine turns on. In Boris’ safehouse, it’s too far away to hear, but the sudden rush of ink through the pipes and the twitching of _his_ ink, gives it away. He’s scared but curious and creeps down to the Music Department, always on guard and ready to flee.

It’s to his absolute shock that he comes face to face with a human. A _real human._

And the words he says change everything.

“Boris? Is that you?”

Stunned, Boris nods.

“My name is Henry Stein.”

For the first time in years, Buddy’s mind surges and a single clear thought breaks through into Boris’ ink. A spark of knowledge that rings true in the depths of his inky heart.

“ _Joey lied. **Henry** is The Creator.”_

Normally, Boris would run and hide from the other residents of the studio, new and old, human and ink. But just this once, for The Creator, and for what’s left of Buddy, Boris smiles and offers his hand.


	12. Creeping Shadows

**Prompt: chainsaw, decapitated, casket**

Henry, Boris, Alice, and Tom are flung into the world of Dead by Daylight to survive...or not. And they're not alone.

* * *

“Here’s what we’re going to do.” Alice’s voice is a whisper, but still rings with command. To her right, Tom is listening intently and to her left, Boris is fidgeting restlessly, looking around with wide eyes. Across from her, Henry stays motionless and listens attentively. “Tom and I will go to the farmhouse; there should be at least one generator there. Henry, can you check the basement? There might be resources we can use. And Boris…”

She trails off, clearly noticing how the younger toon is shaking like a leaf. He’s barely holding it together as-is.

“…Why don’t you check the outer walls? We’ll need to know where the gates are once we’ve fixed the generators.”

Boris nods frantically, relieved beyond words to be kept out of the main action.

“Does everyone know what they’re doing?”

All three males nod.

“Good. Let’s do it!”

She and Tom instantly set off without looking back. They make a good team, clearing corners and watching each other’s backs so that the Demon can’t sneak up on them. It’s obvious that they’ve been partners a long time, possibly as long as they’ve been stuck in this murderous game.

“You okay, Buddy?” Henry whispers once the other two are out of earshot. The young toon looks at him with surprise then offers a weak grin and a shrug. “I’ll be right here if you need anything. And if you have to jump in a closet, don’t hesitate. None of us want you to get hurt.”

A firmer nod.

“Alright. See you soon.” Henry steps away from the burning barrel where the group had met up and hesitates before exiting the safety of the ramshackle wooden walls that surround it. Looking out as he waits for his eyes to adjust to the darkness, he can make out a vast field of corn shifting in the wind, the shadowy form of a hill nearby, and a hulking building that’s only a silhouette against the dark sky at this distance. He can also see a rusty hook – he _hopes_ it’s rust – swinging in breeze where it hangs from makeshift metal scaffolding that almost looks like parts of the Ink Machine.

He never thought he’d miss the studio, but he can honestly say the constant fear, confusion, running for his life, and repeated resurrection when he proved too slow was preferable to the slow death and constant threat of the hooks to be found in _this_ place.

There’s the sound of a revving chainsaw in the distance, followed by a feminine shriek.

_“Tom!_ ”

Henry winces and takes a step in that direction, then shakes his head and turns back to the shack where he knows the basement steps are located. It’ll take a while for their enemy to get Tom somewhere they can rescue him, and maybe Henry will be able to find some bandages or a flashlight before that to help out. He’s learned from hard experience that those accessories can turn the tide in a fight against their hunter.

He’s about halfway to the shack and skirting what looks like a pile of rotten wood and rusted metal sheeting when a familiar heartbeat begins to tap at the back of his skull. Still alert from Tom’s capture and waiting to be notified of his location, Henry hears it instantly and freezes in place.

Maybe, _maybe_ , this time the Demon won’t notice him…

Black lines of ink crawl out of the shadows around him and an infuriated shriek rings so close that Henry’s ears ring.

Then he’s running, the heavy thuds of the Ink Demon’s deformed foot and shrieks of rage quickly accompanied by the revving of a chainsaw coming closer faster than either of them can run.

As Henry dashes through a doorway, slamming a pallet down behind him to hopefully buy a few seconds of time and distance, he can only grimace and muse in grim silence.

At least he can serve as a distraction while Alice rescues Tom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this one was inspired by the prompt but i don't think I even used two of the words in the ficlet. It was more that they made me think of Dead by Daylight and THAT inspired the ficlet. It's short, but I think it does its job.
> 
> Two days left!


	13. Monsters & Memories

**Prompt: black dress, owl, crypt**

The vampire Alice Angel lures a stray composer back to her place for a quick bite, only to find out he’s more than he seemed.

* * *

“Are you coming, handsome?” Alice Angel ( _Not Suzie. Never Suzie again!_ ) croons, beckoning to the dark-haired man at the entrance to her chamber. It’s not her favorite place to stalk victims, but it will do, and the tall stranger will certainly make the homely surrounding worth it. Perhaps she’ll even take him to her elaborate lair, if he proves a good enough meal. Good enough not to die, at least.

The sound of a plucked chord echoes through the room, resonating beautifully, and Alice hums in appreciation. It’s the man’s music that originally drew her to him, after all. Though it helps that he’s not bad to look at. He’s dark-haired, dark-eyed, and a head taller than her, with sharp joints and strong limbs. His fingers on the violin had been long and flexible, confident with every note that sang from the instrument.

Not bad at all.

“Of course, my lady.” The stranger replies, all courtesy, and steps through the doorway, looking around curiously. “I confess, this is not what I had expected.”

Not surprising. No doubt he’d either expected some low-rent hotel room or extremely posh penthouse, not the plain, unoriginal middle-ground Alice managed to find. It’s not like the owner is complaining.

…Though, the owner isn’t complaining about much anymore. There’s a reason her vampire’s thirst hasn’t taken over and ripped her conquest’s throat out, and it has much to do with the cooling body in the next room.

“And what did you expect, sir?” Alice allows a thread of true threat to edge into her tone. Good looks and beautiful music aren’t enough to excuse a genuine insult.

“My lady, surely you deserve better?” He waves his arms so widely that his violin nearly hits the wall.

“…Perhaps.” Best not to let him follow that train of thought too far. “Come. Speak to me.” A thread of control extends through the words and the man steps right into it, unknowing. He walks forward without a second thought to sit on the modest grey couch next to Alice Angel.

“Now, what is your name?” She purrs, edging closer.

“Sammy Lawrence.” His voice is full of pride and he leans back, closer to her. But his attention is more on the following words than her presence. “Perhaps you’ve heard of me?”

That’s…dangerous. There’s a reason Alice picks victims from the poor side of town; if he’s a public figure, then people will _notice_ he’s gone. Worse, they might have noticed him leave the bar. For a moment, she considers re-thinking her decision.

“I can’t say that I have.”

“I wrote the music for Joey Drew Studios newest venture, the-!”

“I’m sorry, did you say _Joey Drew?”_

Forget second thoughts. Forget _dinner_. She’s going to _murder_ him.

“Of course!” He has the gall to look offended at her interruption. “I am the musical director at the studio; I write all of our music.”

“And you are… _friends_ with Mr. Drew?” Alice forces the words out. She can count on one hand the number of true friends Joey has ever had and most of them are dead. But everyone he blinds with his smile seems to _think_ he’s their friend, so that’s not saying much.

“Not…as such.” Sammy’s voice noticeably cools and Alice perks up. “He is my boss. And a genius for his creations, of course. But my friend…no.”

“Is that so?”

Maybe the situation is salvageable after all. In fact, maybe it will be the opening she’s always wanted to get back at the man who ruined her life.

In that moment, Sammy reaches up to push his hair back off his face and reveals, for the first time, black lines tracing the veins of his wrist and a spot in the shape of a demon’s head in the center of his palm. A very familiar demon’s head. Staring at it, Alice is reminded of sharp teeth, a never-ending smile, and the acidic bite of inhuman blood dissolving her veins from the inside out.

She pulls back, feeling something acidic in the back of her throat.

Maybe this is her opportunity for revenge

Or maybe this is about to get her killed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's really hard to settle on behavior for a character that's been insane for 95% his canon appearances. The only 'real' Sammy we get from the game and book are a couple recordings and his first encounter with Buddy, so any other interpretation is bound to come across as OOC. For that reason, I guess I should have gone in a different direction with this prompt. Or picked a different one - this ficlet is only vaguely inspired by the original three words, anyway.
> 
> Eh. Oh well. I didn't, and here we are. At least tomorrow's installment is better.


	14. Happy Halloween!

**Prompt: skeleton, jack o lantern, bloodcurdling**

(Familiar!Bendy verse) Bendy loves pranks and he manages to sneak one past Henry on Halloween night when he offers tricks instead of treats to innocent candy-seekers.

* * *

“Trick or treat!”

“AAAAAAAAaaaaahhhHH!”

Bendy swallowed back a chuckle at the startled shriek and peeked around the corner of the house, watching a little red-headed girl dressed in a pink princess costume turn tail and flee from the porch and the bowl full of candy on it. She ran to her parents who were standing at the front gate, still screaming.

They were gone by the time Henry opened the door with a confused expression, his face comically bewildered as he looked up and down the street, then down at the still-full bowl of candy.

“Hm. I could have sworn I heard someone…?” The aging wizard muttered as he pulled back and pushed the door closed.

By now, Bendy had his gloved hands clasped over his mouth to keep his giggles from giving him away. The little demon peeked again when he heard the door click into place and, after making sure no one was in sight, he darted forward through the bushes next to the porch and sent a little _zap!_ Of red magic into the chair holding the candy.

He was gone by the time three more trick-or-treaters came down the sidewalk chattering loudly with excitement, this time sitting high in the tree next to the kitchen window. He curled down in the crook of two large branches to watch, his mostly-black form all but invisible from the ground.

All three children noticed the candy at the same time.

“Cool!”

“Look – they’re _big_ candy bars!”

“I dunno guys; that’s Mr. Stein’s place, isn’t it?”

“Mr. Stein’s awesome!”

“Yeah, he’s pretty nice…”

“But he does _magic…_

“So?”

“That’s even better! It’s _Halloween_!”

It’s the littlest trick or treater that scampers through the gate first, a girl who’s maybe seven or eight years old. She’s dressed as a tiger and her false striped tail sways behind her as she runs up to the candy, then skids to a stop at the bottom of the steps.

“C’mon guys!” She shouts back to her friends, impressively loud. “It’s _fine!_ Or are you _chicken?”_

“I am _not!_ ” It’s a little boy who follows her next, the same age and dressed like a stereotypical vampire. When he speaks, he lisps because the plastic fangs in his mouth are too big and on the verge of falling out every time he moves too much. He stomps up the pathway to stand next to her and they turn back to their final friend together.

“…Okay.” It’s another little girl, smaller than the other two. She’s a bed-sheet-ghost and the only part of her that Bendy can see is a pair of bright blue eyes that shift in and out of visibility as the holes in the sheet move out of place every few steps. “I’m coming.”

Finally, she reaches her friends and together they turn towards the candy.

Bendy’s wide grin grows wider and more mischievous as he feels his magic trigger and the chair suddenly shifts like a living thing. The seat splits open, the springs inside hanging diagonally in a semblance of teeth, and two buttons on the back flicker into eyes, the seams above them coming down into angry eyebrows that glare at the kids. All three children stop cold, staring with gaping mouths as the chair growls with the sound of the wood inside creaking and groaning.

Bendy leans forward, anticipating the screams as they back away, and then - !

“ _There_ you are!” An immaterial hand grabs Bendy by the back of his bowtie and he’s snatched out of the tree by his scruff with a startled squeak.

Instead of screaming and running away, the kids turn to look at the demon in surprise…and then at the wizard who materializes underneath him, to replace the magical hand with a physical one.

Bendy grins weakly up at his wizard. “Uh…hey, Henry.” He giggles nervously. “Um, Happy Halloween?”

Henry turns to look at the chair, still holding Bendy in a firm grip, and shakes his head. With a wave of his hand, it’s back to its normal immaterial state.

“Go ahead, kids. Take as much as you want. It was just a prank.” He arches a disapproving eyebrow at Bendy. It’s an eyebrow that says: _Play nice or you won’t be getting any more candy._

“Yeah, just a prank!” Bendy grins at the kids, managing to look remarkably unrepentant while dangling in midair. “Sorry! Happy Halloween!”

The little ghost is cowering but the others are standing as if to protect her and they look way more interested in what Henry said.

“All the candy we want? _Really?_ ”

“It-it’s not magic, is it?”

“I promise you; it is not. And yes, take as much as you want. It seems this little rapscallion’s been scaring away my trick or treaters.” Bendy is shaken gently.

“Okay!”

“Yeah!”

Even the little ghost is mollified by the promise and takes a heaping handful of candy along with her friends. They run back down the driveway, already giggling with excitement, the fear forgotten and the story of their encounter with the chair growing more unbelievable with every telling.

Once they’re gone, Henry puts Bendy down and pins him with a disapproving look. “Bendy, that wasn’t very nice.”

“Ah, c’mon, it was all in good fun. It’s Halloween, Henry! Live a little!”

“I think you’ve been living enough for both of us.” But the wizard’s already thawing, his frown slipping into a more familiar tolerant smile, and Bendy tries to look as cute as possible to hurry it along.

Henry laughs. “You can bat your eyes as much as you want, Bendy, but you’re not bothering any more trick or treaters tonight.”

“Awww…”

“Come on. You can help me finish carving the pumpkins.”

“Sure, Pal.” Bendy’s grin is back almost as soon as it falls and he scoots inside of the house behind Henry, following him into the kitchen and hopping up on a chair to see the pumpkins and carving tools more closely. Henry’s not going to be so happy with his distraction when he sees what Bendy’s planning to carve.

Let’s see…how much magic will it take to animate a pumpkin into chasing the trick or treaters away from the candy? And how scary can he make the carving without making Henry angry again?

In the distance, he can still hear the kids making noise and he finds himself smiling along with Henry at their excitement when they approach the next house.

Three voices shout the time-honored words in unison.

“Trick or treat!”

And the parting response.

“Happy Halloween!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who's joined me for this challenge; I've loved reading every single comment!
> 
> Happy Halloween!


	15. Finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, something special for the finale of my Spooky Season challenge: a sneak preview at the first two chapters of one of the Bendy fics in my notebook.

_When Henry misses meeting Boris at the end of chapter two, he decides to set up his own safe house on the lower floors instead of pressing on to Alice Angel’s domain._

* * *

**Chapter 1**

Something new is stirring in Joey Drew Studios.

Boris isn’t usually one to get involved. He's lived too long, survived too much, seen too many mutilated toons, and knows the true natures of too many studio inhabitants to believe getting involved with any of them means something other than death. Even if he wanted to, the Angel's territory is between him and the elevator and he has no desire to venture out into the open when she would be the first one to see him. He'd probably be ripped apart before he could even reach any potential allies.

He is content with his little safe room buried deep in the shadows at the far end of Level K and the one-man utility elevator he uses to reach the floors below. No one usually notices when he scavenges in the shadowy corners on those uninhabited levels for supplies. On the off chance he runs into the roaming Ink Demon or scattered Butcher Gang, a quick duck into a Miracle Station keeps him alive. He spends his days listening to old records, heating bacon soup, sleeping in his hammock, and piecing together what scraps of paper, string, and memory he can pull together for clues about his past. It’s stressful, depressing, and lonely, but it’s his.

...Maybe _content_ isn’t exactly the right word, but at least he’s alive.

This time, though, the excitement is too close to his home for comfort. New ink creatures aren’t all that uncommon – the screaming voices in the ink are constantly trying to drag themselves out - but usually they’re Lost Ones or Searchers and drawn to others of their kind. As such, Boris rarely sees them unless they manifest in his territory and he passes them limping and lurching their way down towards the Lost Harbor. They rarely even look at him, let alone interact with him, and he never follows them.

The new creature, on the other hand, has settled far too close for comfort and shows no sign of moving on. Boris doesn’t define the area he scavenges in as his territory, but he still feels crowded when he finds signs of the intruder in the same places he searches for supplies. They aren’t too obvious; whoever, _whatever,_ it is, is trying to go unnoticed; but Boris has lived in the studio for years and knows every empty rusty can and splattered ink ( _blood_ ) stain like the back of his gloved hand.

…. There’s extra ink staining the floor around the elevator on Level G when Boris shows up one day and three empty cans of bacon soup tucked under a table in the corner. It’s enough to trigger the wolf’s paranoia and he stands on the elevator platform for a long moment, mentally agonizing between the desire to run away and the knowledge that there’s a wrench hidden only two rooms away that he desperately needs to fix his water pump. He fiddles with his light and shifts from foot to foot as he considers his options.

Then, something falls over in the distance with a loud _‘Crash!’_ and the ominous thump of a heartbeat thunders through the walls.

Boris’ heart jumps into his throat and his hand is smacking the lift’s button before he consciously makes a decision. Inky tendrils are snaking their way across the landing platform even as he speeds away, back up to the safety of his refuge.

Within a minute, Boris is slumped at the table in his safe room with his head in his hands. He’s panting and shaking so hard that the pot on the stove next to him is rattling.

That was close. Too close.

…

But he still needs that wrench.

* * *

**Chapter 2**

Henry does not know what is going on.

It feels like forever ago that he received that damned little yellow piece of paper signed by a man who was once a friend, and once an enemy. Became an enemy _25 years ago_ , which should have been Henry’s first sign that something was wrong with the friendly message. But it wasn’t out of character for Joey to ignore the past if it meant a better future; he could put anything behind him if it meant profit and prestige for himself and Henry’s work had always been what the public liked best. Once, this studio had been Henry’s pride and joy and leaving it tore his heart out; making nice with Joey – his _friend_ Joey, who’d swallowed his pride enough to send that letter – was a small price to pay for returning to his beloved cartoons and characters. He’d agonized over his choice for days but always came back to the same bottom line: it made sense for Joey to reach out to him if it meant getting his best animator back and Henry was being petty by holding onto a grudge for so long.

In his darker moments, Henry had worried that it was a trick, that Joey was inviting him in just to mock him and throw him back out. A sort of ‘ _Look at what I managed without you; your characters are **mine** now!_’ but he couldn’t come up with a reason why Joey would waste time and effort on something so petty. Time was money to Joey, and wasting either on Henry had never been an option.

Never in his wildest dreams could Henry have imagined what was actually waiting for him in the studio. And never in his nightmares could he have come up with the effect that the monsters and tainted ink would have on him.

“Okay, Henry. Deep breaths. Just breathe.” The animator gasps out, trying to regulate his breathing and pounding heartbeat. Talking probably isn’t helping, but it _is_ grounding him. “Okay, now…” His eyes stray down to look at his hands where they are braced on his knees and register just enough _shining black_ and _sharp claws_ for him to snap his eyes back up. “Not that! Don’t focus on that. Just…breathe…”

His eyes slide closed and he thumps his head back against the wall, leaning on it heavily and letting it anchor him to reality. His hands feel normal – _human_ \- braced against the rough boards behind him and his feet automatically adjust to bear his weight. The heartbeat is still present but it’s distant and he imagines it’s faster, its owner angry at being cheated out of his prey. Even as Henry tries to focus on it, it fades away entirely and the sense of impending, vicious doom pressing down on his shoulders and around his throat like a noose dissipates.

With a final shuddering breath, Henry manages to regain control. He pushes upright and scrubs his hands through his hair, doing his best to ignore how slick his roots feel and how the tips of his fingers snarl and drag against them. This time when he opens his eyes, he looks at his hands on purpose and grimaces.

They don’t look much like they used to. The weathered lines and callouses that used to live on his palms have been replaced by black splotches, each one placed with damning purpose. Every finger is black from the last joint up, like he’s dipped each fingertip in a bucket of ink and held it there until it was dyed the color of pitch, and sharp black points protrude from where his nails used to be, innocuously short but lethally sharp (a detail he’s learned from hard experience). A much bigger mark stains the center of each palm like a gunshot, darkest in the middle and lighter around the smudged edges with thin black lines reaching away from it and up each finger to meet the other markings. Thankfully, the spaces between the spots are still flesh-colored but white seems to be dripping down from the back of each hand to mar even those thin strips of skin.

Henry turns them over with a sigh to find the source of the white coloration. Unlike the even black markings on his palms, the white is smeared over the backs of his hands like someone spilled a can of paint, drips and splotches completely random. He flexes his hands, watching the claws extend and retract and the new colors shift over his knuckles. It’s becoming a familiar sight, although the exact color pattern is slightly different every day, covering a little more of his normal skin.

He fears his face is just as bad but it’s been so long since he’s seen an unbroken mirror that he has no idea. The rest of his body looks more like a Rorschach test than human skin, but the black marks are slowly finding a strange sort of symmetry along his limbs. He’s waiting nervously to find out what pattern they will eventually settle on.

The animator shakes his head and scowls at himself. “Alright, enough woolgathering, Henry. That’s a good way to get killed.”

If nothing else, the pause is enough time for him to recover his nerve so his movements are sure and steady when he sticks his head out of the maintenance closet where he’d taken refuge. Wary eyes flick up and down the hallway outside before he ventures out. He broke his axe ages ago trying to get through a boarded-up door and it’s times like these that he misses it most. His new claws are a poor substitute for the comforting weight of a weapon in his hands.

On quiet feet, Henry makes his way back to the area’s main room: a large rectangular space with a few empty half-broken wooden tables set up around the perimeter, a doorway in each wall, and couple thick cables running from square hole in the ceiling through an identical hole in the door. It’s a maintenance elevator shaft, he knew that on sight, but it never comes when he tries to call it so now he barely spares it a wistful glance before moving past.

There’s a suite of three little rooms on the next floor down that has only one access door and he’s managed to rig with a lock on the inside to use as a sort of base. Or, at least, it’s someplace not quite as dangerous as being out in the open. He refuses to think of it as home; that would mean accepting that he’s stuck in this demonic hellscape that was once his beloved animation studio; but it makes his days more bearable. And furnishing the bare, ink-stained walls is a good break from his constant search for a way out of the labyrinth he’s stuck in.

On his way to the stairs, something catches the corner of his eye and he pauses. A small closet off the main room is cracked open, probably from the ink demon’s temper tantrum, and Henry can see the glimmer of metal inside. A closer look reveals a long wrench leaning against one of the walls and he picks it up, hefting it with a faint hum of satisfaction.

It’s not an ax, but it’s better than nothing. He gives it an experimental swing, smacking the circular head into his other head to gauge its strength and nods in satisfaction.

“Well, that’s something. Maybe I can use it to get the elevator working?”

Lost in thought (though still keeping a wary ear out for the ink demon), Henry returns to his little refuge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who’s come along with me for this challenge. It's been an interesting experience for me and I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> Happy Halloween!

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I'm new to the Bendy fandom, but I love the game and the deeper plot begs to have fanfic written about it so I've decided to include it in my personal Halloween challenge this year.
> 
> I will be writing and posting a Halloween ficlet for every day in the last two weeks of October, in BatIM and in Bleach (one of my older fandoms). I've got a list of 150 'spooky' words to use as prompts and I'll be randomly picking three of them to inspire each ficlet. My Bleach fics will be on both ffnet and AO3 but my BatIM ficlets will only be posted here. On Halloween, I'll do something super special to cap off the month.
> 
> If anyone's interested, I'll post some extra one-sentence prompts in the author's notes too. (Ideas that I've chosen not to use.)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy the fics!
> 
> Happy Halloween!


End file.
